by Kate Novak
“I can’t believe Akabar would do such a thing,” the swordswoman said. “Something else must have attacked them.”
“Then why isn’t Akabar’s body in a pile of ash on the carpeting?” Breck snarled. He was shaking with anger and barely controlled grief.
“How do you know those aren’t his ashes mingled in with Kyre’s?” Alias retorted hotly.
Zhara moaned and sank to the bed. Dragonbait glared at the swordswoman, but Alias ignored him. She couldn’t afford to be tactful for Zhara’s sake. She had to clear Akabar’s reputation.
“If he was incinerated along with Kyre, too,” Breck said, “his boots would be here.”
“He was wearing rope sandals,” Alias argued.
“And he didn’t carry a single piece of metal with him?” Breck asked.
That, Alias realized, was hardly likely. She changed her tack. “Whoever killed Kyre could have carried Akabar off,” she stated. “Grypht might have returned and eaten him, for all you know.”
Zhara gave a keening wail. The swordswoman shot an annoyed look at Akabar’s wife. Dragonbait nudged Alias angrily with his elbow.
“I believe Grypht has indeed carried off Akabar,” a voice said, “but the beast appears to prefer greenery to human flesh. Akabar is still alive.”
Everyone looked around. Standing in the new entrance to the room that Zhara had fashioned with her magic was Morala. The old priestess leaned heavily on Captain Thurbal’s arm, but she was smiling.
“I have just been scrying upon Grypht. He was carrying a southern mage dressed in a red-and-white-striped robe,” Morala said.
“Akabar!” Zhara cried out eagerly. “His robes are red and white!”
“Then he is in league with Grypht!” Breck declared.
Mourngrym exchanged a distressed look with Alias. “Was Akabar being carried off by force, Morala, or using the beast as a mount?” his lordship asked.
“Akabar was unconscious, so I couldn’t tell his wishes,” Morala explained, shuffling into the room with Captain Thurbal beside her.
“What about Nameless?” Alias asked anxiously. “Was he with Grypht?”
Morala shook her head. “No,” she said. “Nameless appears to be in an underground tunnel of some sort, digging his way through, though whether he is trying to escape the tunnel or burrow in farther, I could not tell. There is a halfling woman with him. They both appear uninjured, but their location remains a mystery. I think we best concentrate on tracking Grypht,” Morala said. “Grypht has the finder’s stone, and with that, he can track both Elminster and Nameless.”
“A finder’s stone?” Alias asked. “Like the one Elminster gave to me?”
“The finder’s stone,” Morala corrected her. “There is only one. It’s an old artifact that Nameless made to store his music and his spells,” the priestess explained. “For anyone else, it worked as a compass.”
“But we lost it in Westgate, battling Moander,” Alias said.
The wrinkles in Morala’s forehead doubled as she tried to think of how the stone got from Westgate into Grypht’s hands. Unable to come up with a satisfactory explanation, the priestess huffed in frustration. “Well, Grypht has found it somewhere, somehow,” she said. “When I last saw him, he was using it. He was standing atop a hill covered with many small oak trees and crowned with a single immense oak, laden with mistletoe and ivy and moss.”
“That would have to be Oakwood Knoll, your lordship,” Captain Thurbal said. “East of the river.”
“A monster that size will be easy to follow,” Breck said, heading for the door.
Mourngrym’s arm shot out and caught Breck’s tunic, pulling him back. “Hold on a minute there, man,” his lordship said. “This … thing’s already attacked you once today. You can’t go after it alone. The dale’s full of hiding places. You could be tracking it for days. Let me get a party of guards and provisions together. It will only take a few hours.”
“A few hours!” Breck shouted. “Kyre’s been murdered, and you expect me to wait a few hours? I’m going to bring this creature’s head back on a pike—and Akabar’s, too, if I find he’s in league with it.”
Zhara rose quickly and rushed at Breck, pushing him back against the table with a surprising show of strength. “My husband,” she hissed, “is a man of honor, a scholar and a mage.” The young priestess’s voice rose in fury, and her eyes flashed with fire. “How dare you suggest such a thing?” she shouted. “If you harm one hair on his head, I will bring Tymora’s curse down upon you!”
Breck looked stunned by the veiled woman’s verbal attack. It took him only a moment to recover, however. “You could be in league with him, too, for all I know,” he said to Zhara.
Zhara called Breck one of the few Turmish words Mourngrym knew. His lordship blushed. Fortunately, Breck didn’t realize he’d been insulted.
Dragonbait gently pulled Zhara away from the ranger. Then he signed to Alias. She nodded.
“Your lordship,” Alias announced to Mourngrym, “Dragonbait and I can be ready to leave in a quarter of an hour. If you can wait that long, Breck Orcsbane, we will join you.”
“He can wait that long,” Mourngrym said firmly. “Try to keep in mind, Orcsbane, that if you bring nothing but heads back, we may never find Elminster or Nameless or Olive Ruskettle. I understand how you feel about Kyre, but we have to think of those who are still alive. I want you to try to capture the beast.”
“Capture a denizen of the Nine Hells?” Breck shouted. “That’s impossible!”
“Try,” Lord Mourngrym said. “It may not be a fiend.”
“Kyre said that it was!” Breck hissed angrily.
“Try to capture it anyway,” Mourngrym insisted. “And return Akabar Bel Akash alive, whether he resists or not.”
“I will go, too, to see that this man obeys,” Zhara said.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Breck insisted. “Your lordship, this woman is the man’s wife. I want you to arrest her.”
“I can’t arrest a woman for being a man’s wife,” Mourngrym said, barely able to contain his own annoyance with the ranger.
“But she could warn him that we’re coming and foil our attempts to capture him,” Breck argued.
“Lady Zhara,” Morala said softly, “it would be best if you remain here in the tower. As you said, your husband is a man of honor. The least we can do is keep you safe until his return.”
“Keep me hostage, you mean!” Zhara exclaimed hostilely.
“We’re riding into the wilderness, and we’ll probably end up having to fight this Grypht,” Alias said with annoyance. “You’d only slow us down and get in the way.”
“I am following my husband,” Zhara insisted angrily.
“No, you aren’t!” Breck shouted.
“Please stay here, Lady Zhara,” Morala coaxed.
Dragonbait made two short, sharp signs to the Turmishwoman, which Alias did not see. Zhara bit her lip and took a deep breath. “I will stay,” she said softly. “Show me to my room.”
“Captain Thurbal, would you escort this lady to my wife’s quarters and ask Lady Shaerl to look after her?” Mourngrym asked.
“Yes, your lordship,” the captain said, nodding. “This way, lady,” he said, motioning for Zhara to follow him.
Akabar’s wife laid her hand on Dragonbait’s chest and looked into his eyes. The paladin ran a clawed finger down the sleeve of her robe and nodded. Then Zhara turned and followed Thurbal from the room, as meekly as a child.
Dragonbait signed to Alias that he would fetch their things from the inn.
Alias nodded. “I’ll gather some provisions together if Harper Breck will take care of saddling our horses,” she said.
“I’ll be waiting for you at the bridge,” Breck replied. He strode from the room. Dragonbait followed him out.
“You have your work cut out for you,” Mourngrym warned Alias. “If you think you need help handling Breck, I can ride along with you.”
“No, thank you, your l
ordship,” Alias said. “I’m sure Kyre was wrong about Grypht’s origins, but if she was correct about his working for the Zhentarim, the Zhentarim may be planning an attack on Shadowdale. The dale folk need you here. As a favor to me, however, please see that Akabar’s wife stays here.”
“We’ll keep her safe,” Morala promised.
“Just keep her out of my way,” Alias muttered.
Mourngrym pursed his lips with disapproval. Alias never seemed to get along with clergy. It was lucky Dragonbait had so much influence over the Turmishwoman. His lordship wondered what it was the saurial had signed to the priestess to make her obey so readily. “I’ll be sure the guards know she’s not to leave the tower, Alias,” Mourngrym said. “I’ll take you down to the storeroom to help you collect provisions.”
“I think I’ll stay here to rest awhile,” Morala said. She stepped closer to the swordswoman. “We should say our good-byes now, Alias of Westgate. If you happen to meet Nameless before we meet again, remember to ask him to tell you the whole truth.”
“I’ll remember,” Alias replied.
Morala reached up and laid a hand on Alias’s shoulder. “Grief and pain lie in your path. May sweet music and brave songs bring you strength to endure them until you know joy again.” Morala removed her hand from Alias’s shoulder.
Alias sighed. She didn’t believe prayers did any good, but at least Morala’s blessing hadn’t been too silly. “Good-bye, Morala,” the swordswoman said. “It’s been … interesting meeting you.”
Morala smiled wryly.
Alias turned and strode from the room, and Mourngrym followed after her.
Grypht looked with a great deal of satisfaction down the ravine that cut across his path. It was quite deep and long, but far too wide to leap across. It was just what he needed to slow down any would-be trackers. He walked north along the edge for a hundred yards, then halted. The scent of fresh-mown hay rose again from his body as he summoned another dimensional portal to take him across the ravine with his burden. Once he stood on the other side, he moved as carefully as possible so as not to leave a trail that could be easily spotted from across the ravine. Then he turned once again toward the sinking sun, following the beam of the yellow crystal.
Dragonbait loped back to the tower carrying two sacks in addition to his pack and Alias’s. One sack was full of Alias’s weaponry and armor, both old and new; the other contained leftover dried rations he’d had stored in his room. The saurial nodded politely to the guards as he passed through the tower’s front gate once again. He crossed the entrance hall quickly, then dashed up the stairs and raced through the corridors. He didn’t have much time. He stood before the door to Lady Shaerl’s quarters and took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves.
He was about to engage in a deceit, something which always made him uncomfortable, even when he believed it was for a good cause, such as allowing Zhara to accompany her husband’s rescue party. Without Alias’s support, Dragonbait knew he’d never break down Breck’s opposition to the priestess’s presence. The paladin needed time to persuade the swordswoman to accept Zhara, but things were happening too quickly. He didn’t want to defy Lord Mourngrym, Breck, or most especially Alias, but he had no other choice.
The saurial knocked on Lady Shaerl’s door.
From within, Lady Shaerl called out, “Come in.”
Dragonbait opened the door and stepped inside. Zhara sat on a couch beside Mourngrym’s wife, Shaerl, who held a sleeping Scotty in her arms. The saurial signed very quickly to her ladyship.
Shaerl understood the signing immediately and laughed. “Certainly, Dragonbait. Any time you wish to be alone with a lady in my quarters, just ask,” she said lightly.
The paladin raised his eyes to the ceiling. Her ladyship’s teasing could be most inappropriate at times. But then what else could one expect of a Cormyte noblewoman who understood the thieves’ sign language? Not even motherhood, Dragonbait noted, had dampened the woman’s taste for mischief and adventure. Obviously she did not intend her future to be any less colorful than her past. The saurial signed that his business was urgent.
“Excuse me, Zhara,” Shaerl said, “while I go put this little monster to bed.” Her ladyship rose and carried Scotty into an adjacent room and closed the door behind her.
“I did as you asked,” the priestess said in low tones once the two of them were alone. “I pretended to submit. But I will not remain here while Akabar is in danger.”
Dragonbait signed to Zhara that he was sure that Akabar had nothing to fear from Grypht; Grypht was his friend. Hastily the paladin signed his plans for her escape; then he began pulling pieces of Alias’s armor out of the sack. A few minutes later, the pair of them descended the stairway into the front entrance hall. “This will never work,” Zhara whispered, tugging at the uncomfortable studded leather collar she now wore around her throat. “Even if I look like Alias, my skin is too dark,” she argued.
Dragonbait made a wheezing noise. Zhara realized he was chuckling. They won’t see your skin, he signed, only your flesh.
Zhara shuddered and clutched the bundle that held her robes closer to her chest. Dragonbait stepped in front of her, and Zhara halted. The saurial forced her arms down from her chest, revealing a healthy cleavage between her breasts that Alias’s enchanted chain armor did not cover.
Carry your bundle under one arm, the saurial ordered with his fingers. Hold your head up higher. Don’t look modest. Gods know, Alias isn’t. Dragonbait reached up and arranged a lock of Zhara’s hair over the scholar’s tattoo of three blue dots on her forehead. Don’t rest your hand on the sword hilt, he added. That’s for swaggering amateurs.
Zhara moved her hand from the blade’s handle, and Dragonbait continued to instruct the priestess as they made their way down the staircase. Just nod to the guards when you go past. Pay attention to my signing, and they’ll realize you’re too busy to chat.
When they reached the entrance hall, the saurial began to encourage Zhara with a steady banter. Remember, you’re Alias, the warrior who defeated the Iron Throne’s hired kalmari and the evil fiend Phalse. They all admire your courage. You’re probably the most talented singer in the Realms. They all love your singing. You are very beautiful. The young women want to be like you and the young men want to be with you.
Zhara’s eyes met with those of one of the guards at the door. The guard nodded politely. Zhara nodded in return and hastily averted her eyes back to Dragonbait’s signing hands. She could feel herself flushing. She had never before appeared in public without her veil, let alone without her priestess’s robes. Only her husband had ever seen this much of her body before, and the priestess felt more than embarrassed. She felt ashamed, as though she’d been unfaithful to Akabar.
Once they’d stepped through the tower’s front gate, Dragonbait clutched Zhara’s arm and hurried her toward the stable. They passed an ornamental rose arbor, and the saurial dodged into it, yanking the priestess after him. The arbor protected them from the rain that continued to fall as well as from curious eyes.
Give me the sword, but put your robes back on over the armor. You may need its protection, Dragonbait signed.
“How much protection can it possibly offer?” Zhara asked, unstrapping the sword’s sheath from the metal girdle about her waist. “There’s nothing to it. Besides, what will Alias wear?”
Don’t be fooled by the chain mail’s looks. It’s heavily enchanted, Dragonbait explained. Alias can wear her spare armor. Remember what I told you, he warned as she donned her robes, once you are across the bridge, hide in the woods until you see us pass. Wait awhile longer before you follow. Look for strips of white or blue cloth. Here, take this cloak, he ordered, handing her one of Alias’s old cloaks. Cover your head with the hood—a veil will attract too much attention.
Handing her a small sack of dry rations, he signed, This is all the food I could collect, but we will pass several farm fields. The farmers will not object if you glean from them. Take care, la
dy, until we meet again.
Zhara grabbed Dragonbait’s tunic. “All those things you said about Alias in the tower … I am not like her. I’m not nearly so brave or so talented or so beautiful. I do not think I can do this,” she whispered anxiously.
Dragonbait stroked Zhara’s arm, and the priestess felt the blue brand on her arm tingle just as it had when he had touched it before. It was an oddly comforting feeling.
You are different from Alias, the paladin signed, but you can do this. You must and you will. The smell of garlic surrounded them, the scent of the saurial’s determination. Without another word, Dragonbait gave Zhara a light shove toward the road. The woman hurried toward the bridge and passed by the sentries stationed on the near side. In the drizzling rain, they didn’t find it unusual that a traveler should keep her face covered under the hood of her cloak. When Zhara had reached the opposite side, the lizard strode back to the tower, carrying his and Alias’s packs and the sack containing the swordswoman’s spare armor.
The guards at the gate exchanged confused looks as Dragonbait returned to the tower. “Forget something, Dragonbait?” one of them asked.
The saurial nodded and strode past quickly.
The guards shrugged as Dragonbait raced down the hall toward the tower storerooms.
The paladin followed the trail of Alias’s scent until he found her standing beside Mourngrym in the armory, examining longbows. Dragonbait shook the sack of armor to attract her attention.
“Just a minute, Dragonbait,” Alias said, choosing a hornwood bow and handing it to Mourngrym.
“You change,” Mourngrym said, picking up a quiver of arrows. “I’ll take this out to your horse and make sure Breck doesn’t bolt off without you.” His lordship left the storeroom.
When they were alone, Alias asked the saurial, “What took you so long?”
Dragonbait set the sack of armor down and signed, I went to say good-bye to Zhara and to try to reassure her about Akabar.
“Tymora! You are so naive,” Alias chided. “Zhara doesn’t need any comforting. That woman doesn’t care anything about Akabar. As far as priests are concerned, gods come first; husbands and wives place a poor second,” she declared.